


How to Put Your Hands to Good Use

by thewolfthatwrites



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cooking, Domestic, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff and Crack, Horny Teenagers, M/M, Minor Injuries, Pack Dynamics, Pack Family, Pack Feels, Rare Pairings, Sassy Peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-17
Updated: 2013-07-17
Packaged: 2017-12-20 12:02:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/887048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewolfthatwrites/pseuds/thewolfthatwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Stiles starts ordering takeout for the pack instead of cooking dinner, Peter takes notice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to Put Your Hands to Good Use

**Author's Note:**

> Giant thank yous to [clawstoagunfight](../users/clawstoagunfight) and [xblessthefall](../users/xblessthefall) for being awesome betas!!

           Stiles can cook. Like, really well too. Peter shouldn’t be as surprised as he is, he supposes, but who would’ve thought that Stiles would be the one essentially providing for the pack. Sure, it’s him and Derek who provide the finances that purchases the food, but Stiles is the one who takes a bunch of random components and concocts them into something edible.

            On some nights, Peter is convinced that Stiles has just Googled the most complicated and ridiculous recipe just to see if the pups will eat it. Which they do. Because they’re werewolves and they will eat almost anything you set in front of them.

            Peter notices the way Stiles will make desserts featuring peanuts as often as he can, especially for Boyd. Like Scott’s asthma and Erica’s seizures, Boyd’s allergy was taken away when he received the bite. Peter also notices the way Stiles now tends to go out of his way to make sure he never makes anything with cilantro; because while Lydia doesn’t have an anaphylactic reaction, she apparently does get a nasty rash if she comes in contact with it. The only time he had used cilantro was in a rice dish he made, she had an outbreak the next day that had lasted a week. This been especially odd because Derek and Jackson had been the only two in the house to eat any. And everyone was quite aware of the relationship Jackson had going on with Danny. That had been an awkward week were Derek wouldn’t talk to anyone. By the end of the week, the Alpha and the Immune finally admitted to sleeping with each other. And after another week of a bit of goading from the rest of the pack, they caved and agreed they were actually in love.

            Anyway, the point is, for as young as he is, Stiles is practically a master chef. Which is why Peter definitely took notice when there was takeout for dinner one Monday evening. He’s late coming home, just passed the time when they normally eat dinner–because one of the rules Derek and Peter had discussed when they decided to buy and fix up an old house near the university for the pack was that they would eat dinner all together. Just like the way the Hale family had when the two of them were growing up. When he enters the house, the first scent to hit him is pack, followed closely by Chinese food. The sound of an action movie is loud and the scent of contentment is strong in the air as he steps farther into the house. He pauses once he reached the living room, seeing almost everyone spread out on almost every surface watching the movie. Isaac and Erica are cuddled up in the recliner, sharing a box of chow mein. An array of takeout containers surround Jackson and Danny, who are lying side-by-side on their stomachs in front of the couch, which is mostly taken up by a reclining Derek with a snoozing Lydia on top of him. Scott and Cora are sitting a few inches apart on the loveseat, and the smells of loneliness and gloom are wafting off of Boyd who is sitting alone in the Olympic armchair on the far side of the room. Allison must be having dinner with her dad.

            Peter turns his head and inhales in the direction of the kitchen and catches Stiles’ scent. He focuses and can hear Stiles moving around in there before the footsteps come closer to the living room and he emerges with napkins. He grins at Peter and tells him to find a place to sit and something to eat.

            “You’re not sick.”  Peter states rather than asks, he and the other seven werewolves would be able to tell if he was.

            “Uh...nope...healthy as a horse,” Stiles says, his grin tapering off into an uncertain smile. “Come on, have a seat. I saved you some mu shu pork.”

            Peter sets his bag down and moves to join the rest of his family for dinner, choosing to ignore the feeling that is telling him something is off.

* * *

            The next morning there are fresh pastries and napkins on the table; and at night Stiles orders six pizzas with varying toppings for the pack. The next night he brings home a box loaded with Mexican food. The fourth night of not cooking, he asks everyone if they would rather have Thai or Indian food; Thai wins by two votes.

            It isn’t until Friday evening that Peter finally corners Stiles in the dining room to ask him what’s going on.

            “Maybe I just don’t feel like slaving away in the kitchen all day lately,” Stiles says back, posturing.

            “Don’t pretend like I don’t know how much you enjoy the praise you get when any one of the pups compliments your cooking. What’s going on, Stiles?”

            “Nothing is going on, Peter. Sometimes people just need breaks, okay?” He pushes Peter out of the way to storm out of the room, dialing the local fried chicken restaurant as he goes. Peter lets him, mostly because he heard the tic in Stiles’ heartbeat when he said ‘nothing’ and is wondering why Stiles is lying to him.  

* * *

            On Saturday morning, before anyone has the chance to eat, Stiles is making sure that everyone will be out of the house for most of the day. When Jackson and Danny are the last ones, Jackson finally questions Stiles on why he wants the house. Stiles makes up an elaborate excuse about going home to visit the Sheriff for most of the day, meaning he won’t be home to make them lunch. Danny responds with a smart comment about how it shouldn’t matter because Stiles hasn’t made any food all week.

            “I’m still the only person who takes the time to order food for everyone,” Stiles answers while rolling his eyes at the couple. “Now get out of my kitchen before your puppy love makes me physically sick.”

            “That’s offensive,” Jackson grumbles in response. Peter could hear the shuffling of feet, Danny was most likely pulling Jackson away from Stiles.

            “I was actually talking about Danny,” Stiles calls out just before the door closes.

            Peter silently rolls his eyes and stays where he is in his bedroom, right above the kitchen. He’s about ninety percent sure Stiles is under the impression that he had left early, like he normally does on the weekends, because none of the pups had sold him out before leaving.

            He usually spends his Saturday mornings in his favorite coffee shop, not so much for the atmosphere of the place as he just needs to get out of the house. When they had first finished the house and moved in, only Isaac and Erica were in a relationship. However, stick a bunch of horny teenagers into one house, hookups are bound to occur. Allison and Boyd were the next to pair off, followed by Jackson and Danny–who had been dancing around one another for ages. It wasn’t too long after that when Cilantro-gate went down.

            Basically, living in a house full of eighteen year olds all in sexually active, committed relationships can be hell when over half of the house’s occupants are over-sensitive and over-competitive werewolves. Especially on weekend mornings when they are all home at the same time, when each of the wolves fight to make their mate's scent the strongest.

            So when Peter decided to stay in bed this morning in hopes of finding out what Stiles has been hiding, he’s had to hear Derek and Lydia going at it; Isaac and Erica, thankfully muffled a bit by the shower; and Danny and Jackson being ridiculously sweet and disgusting with one another. Apparently, Boyd and Allison leave early too, to avoid hearing and being heard by everyone else. But what shocked and nauseated Peter the most was the blowjob he heard his niece giving Scott in the next room over this morning. He’s still wondering how long that’s been going on when a door bangs below him.

            _Stiles_. He thinks to himself as he concentrates on trying to hear what’s happening below him. He hears the clattering of dishes, which is strange seeing as they hadn’t used real dishes in almost a week. Next, there is a resounding noise of a large metal object hitting the floor and a few other sounds that could be almost anything, given that it is Stiles. Peter waits a little longer before finally deciding to creep down the stairs to get a look.

            When he gets to the kitchen he forgets about being covert as soon as he sees the mess. There are stacks of dishes piled in and around the sink, an open toolbox resting on the floor beside the empty racks from inside the dishwasher, and then there is Stiles. Stiles who is sprawled on the floor apparently attempting to look in the machine.

            “What the hell are you doing?” Peter asks, startling Stiles so much that he flails his entire body resulting in slicing his forehead open on something sharp and dangerous.

            “What the hell am I doing?? What are you doing? You don’t sneak up on someone that’s holding a screwdriver! God!” he manages to get himself into a seated position as Peter pulls off his shirt while striding over to Stiles’ side to survey the damage.

            “How did you manage to maim yourself with a screwdriver? Why are you even holding a screwdriver?” Peter asks, pulling the offending tool from Stiles’ hand. He lifts his shirt up to Stiles’ head to staunch the bleeding.

            “You scared me! I thought I was home alone, you’re never here on Saturdays! What are you doing home?” Stiles’ voice comes out muffled due to the t-shirt.

            “I wouldn’t be here, if you had just answered me honestly yesterday,” Peter tells him as he moves the shirt away now that the bleeding has ceased.

            “How does it look? Do we need to call an ambulance? Do I need stitches?”

            “It’s just a scrape, calm down,” Peter tells him as he drops the shirt. He then stands to retrieve the first aid kit they keep in the pantry. He returns and dresses the laceration quickly before fixing Stiles with a look. Stiles lasts all of five seconds before he breaks.

            “The dishwasher is broken, okay? I thought I would be able to figure out what was wrong and fix it today while everyone was gone.”

            “Why didn’t you just tell me? Or Derek?”

            “Because all of you werewolves have hero-complexes and I can fix stuff okay? Like once when I was fifteen I fixed our TV; you can call and my dad, he's probably still proud of me. I’m not helpless, Peter.”

            “I didn’t say you were, Stiles, but there are twelve of us in this house, you don’t have to do things alone. Do you know much about dishwashers?” Peter asks, raising one eyebrow.

            “Not really...but I could probably’ve figured it out,” he admits with a sigh.

            “Wait...is this why you’ve been feeding us takeout all week? Because the dishwasher is broken?” Peter’s voice is dripping with incredulity.

            “Well! What was I supposed to do? Look at all of those dishes that were in the washer when it broke!” Stiles says, exasperatedly motioning to the covered counter. “Do you know how many more would be there by now after a week of cooking?”

            “Why don’t you wash them by hand?” Peter asks slowly, squinting his eyes and enunciating each word. Stiles just stares blankly at Peter, an uncommon response. “You do know how to use your hands, don’t you Stiles?”

            Stiles’ eyes widen and Peter’s nostrils are hit with wave that is equal parts fear and arousal. “Oh my god. Are you coming on to me? Or is the bloodloss just messing with my brain right now?”

            Peter takes in the pale features staring back at him and can’t help but shake his head a little, a smile slowly making its way across his lips. “You didn’t lose that much blood, Stiles, it was basically a scratch.” Peter begins to stand and reaches a hand down to help Stiles up too.

            “Whatever. What do you want me to do with my hands then?”

            “Have you really never washed dishes?” Peter asks, squinting once more.

            “Uh, hello, they make dishwashers specifically for that reason.”

            Peter scoffs and mutters about kids these days as he moves most of the dishes out of the sink before plugging the drain and turning the tap on so warm water starts to flow. He bends to find the dish soap in the cupboard under the sink before straightening and positioning Stiles in front of him. Peter then guides both of Stiles' hands into the sink.

            "Uh, Peter? What exactly are we doing here?"

            "We're washing the dishes, Stiles." There is about an inch between their bodies as Peter instructs Stiles by pulling a bowl from the water and rubbing it down with the soapy washcloth. "Rinse it off and then place it over here to dry. Haven't you ever wondered why it's a double sink?"

            "Not really?" Stiles shrugs, their bodies touching for a brief moment until he jerks away. "I...uh...I usually make Scott and Isaac load the dishwasher after dinner."

            "As endearing as your naive inexperience has been, time for you to try now." Peter moves his hands to the counter on either side of Stiles and waits.

            "And here I always thought my first time would involve a little less clothes and a lot more touching."

            Peter ignores the comments and quietly watches the way Stiles’ long fingers curl over cups and forks and bowls. He takes his time on each dish, practically caressing them as he cleans them.

            "We would be done sooner if you helped, you know?" He says as his fingers pause in their washing and he turns his head. Peter's face is right there, inches between them. He sees the way Stiles moves his gaze from Peter's eyes to his mouth slowly, then trail down to Peter's bare chest. The smell of fear from earlier is fading away until the arousal is all that's left.

            “Sure,” Peter says with a smirk. He moves his hands back into the slowly cooling water, crowding in just a bit closer to the boy. He hears the way Stiles’ heart ticks at the contact, the way his breath just slightly hitches. They spend the next few minutes scrubbing silently until everything is clean and drying.

            Peter reaches down into murky water to pull the plug before moving away from Stiles to find a fresh hand towel.

            “Is that all?” Stiles asks as Peter hands over the now-damp cloth. “Because I can think of a few more areas where some hands-on instruction would help me considerably.”

            “Which areas would those be? Folding clothes? Dusting the shelves?”

            “Lydia doesn’t let anyone else touch the laundry and Boyd dusts,” Stiles tells him as he moves a few steps closer. “I was thinking a little more…personal.”

            “Oh my god. Are you coming on to me?” Peter mimics Stiles’ earlier words with another smirk.

            Stiles nods and his eyes darken just a bit. “Yeah. I am.”

            They are toe-to-toe now, their faces less than a foot apart. Stiles’ eyes begin to droop shut as Peter moves to close the distance. Stiles’ breath is ghosting across his face, the boy’s scent is filling his nose; he’s almost distracted enough to miss the familiar squeak of the breaks on Allison’s car pulling to a stop in the driveway.

            Peter turns his head swiftly just as Stiles’ patience runs out. He ends up smashing his nose against the side of Peter’s face, causing it to start gushing blood while his eyes instantly fill with tears.

            “What the hell, Peter?” Stiles squawks, grabbing his face.

            Peter stoops down to grab his earlier discarded shirt to hold up to Stiles’ face once more. Stiles snatches it away and presses it to his nose, recoiling at the strength of his own hand. He’s too busy muttering about how Peter is such an abusive tease that he doesn’t hear Boyd and Allison’s approach.

            “Oh my god! Stiles! Are you alright?” Allison calls out the moment she makes it to the kitchen. She drops the paper grocery bag onto the table before rushing to Stiles’ side.

            “Oh yeah, just peachy,” he rolls his eyes.

            “Come on.” She scowls at Peter while grabbing Stiles’ arm to leads him to the closest bathroom, always eager to put her nursing training to use.

            “Why are you shirtless?” Boyd asks, lifting one eyebrow, as he walks in with the rest of the bags. “Actually, why are you in the kitchen?”

            “I was showing Stiles how to wash dishes.”

            Both of Boyd’s eyebrows go up at that, but a tiny smirk plays across his lips. “Dishes, huh? And whose idea was that?”

            “Mine…”

            “Damn. I owe Derek fifty.”

            “For?”

            “I always figured Stiles would break first.” Boyd drops all of the bags onto the table and shrugs.

            “I did break,” Stiles says, reentering the room. He heads straight for the freezer to retrieve a bag of corn. Once he wraps it in the towel Peter had gotten out earlier and places it against his face he turns to glare at the older man. “Your stupid face broke mine.”

            “Maybe you should kiss it better, Peter,” Boyd suggests with a snicker.

            “Peter’s not into kissing a kid like me, actually,” Stiles responds in an icy voice before turning to stride out of the room.

* * *

            It takes almost a week before Peter gets Stiles alone again. He’s across the house and in the kitchen claiming Stiles’ lips the moment he hears Derek drive away. They have maybe an hour before the pups will be back looking for dinner.

            “I’m very much into kissing you,” he murmurs against Stiles’ mouth. “In case that wasn’t positively obvious.”

            Stiles shushes him and pulls back a bit. “Less talking, more kissing.”

            “I thought it was less clothing and more touching.”

            “That too.”

* * *

            “Uh, Stiles…why does the kitchen reek of you and Peter?” Scott asks when he returns to the living room after loading the new dishwasher with Isaac later that night.

            “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Stiles replies, his face rapidly turning red.

            “Bullshit. You can’t hide things in a house full of people with supernatural abilities, Stiles.” Erica crows as Isaac reappears to sprawl himself across her lap.

            “Unless your name is either Scott or Cora,” Peter punctuates his statement by eyeing his niece.

            “At least we stay out of the common living areas,” Scott scoffs. He ignores the looks from everyone as he sits down next to Cora, much closer than he normally does.

            “Oh my god, he just helped me make dinner,” Stiles, still red-faced, proclaims loudly.

            Jackson’s face contorts into a grimace as he says, “There was a really creamy sauce on that pasta.”

            “Oh my god,” Stiles yelps as he buries his face in his hands.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!!


End file.
